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have noble warriors been attacking civilians?"
    "Them not so civil. Them flew!"
    "As I would, if I saw your valiant warriors pursuing me. Why did they?"
    The Scouting-Master grinned, and his warriors chuckled.
    "Not for real. Just good fun."
    "Fun!" Gwen gasped.
    "Well, be fair." Rod shrugged. "It was, kinda, wasn't it?"
    "Indeed?" The lieutenant's voice had become distinctly chilly.
    The Scouting-Master's grin widened. "We could see-um was couple greenhorns. Why not have good time with-um?" The lieutenant gave a wintry smile. "No harm intended, eh?"
    "None." The Scouting-Master frowned. "But them have no business outside Wall! Them not traders!"
    "A p.pint well-taken, I must admit. Still, I cannot help 26 Christopher Stasheff
    but think your mode of contact was something less than honorable."
    The natives scowled, muttering to one another, but the Scouting-Master only shmgged. "Could've done much worse, within-um rights. Could Shacklar gainsay?" The lieutenant was silent a moment, then heaved a sigh.
    "The General-Governor would say that no lasting harm was done, so no hard feelings should last."
    Rod frowned. 'General-Governor?' Didn't they have that the wrong way around?
    "Even so." The Scouting-Master's forefinger stabbed upward, and his smile vanished. "Agreements hold. Me fileum complaint—formal! For trespassing!" The lieutenant stood still for a moment, then sighed, pulled out a pad and began writing. "If you must. However, these two are civilians. That will necessitate a meeting with the General-Governor."
    "Sound great." The Scouting-Master grinned. "Him always serve good coffee." He turned to his warriors, making shooing motions. "Go patrol again!"
    "Boring," one of the warriors grumbled.
    "Want-um soldiers stamp-urn all over planet?" the Scouting-Master snapped. "Besides—good for-um! Buildum character!" The warrior sighed, and the troops turned away. The Scouting-Master turned back, a grin spreading over his face again. "We go see Shacklar now, hm?"
    The lieutenant ushered them into a thirty-by-thirty office with large windows (outside, Rod had noticed steel shutters), a desk at one end, and several padded armchairs at the other. All the furniture had a rough-and-ready look about it, as though it had been built out of local materials by an amateur carpenter. But it was made out of real wood. Rod thought that implied status, until he remembered that wood was cheaper than plastic on a frontier world. The floor was

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    polished wood, too, most of it covered by a plaid carpet, woven of orange, purple, chartreuse, and magenta fibers. Rod winced.
    The man who sat behind the desk seemed out of place. He was in full uniform, bent over paperwork, but was surprisingly young to be top kick; he couldn't have been much more than forty. He was lean, lanky, brown-haired, and the face that looked up at them as they came in was mild and quizzical, with a gentle smile. There was some indefinable air of sophistication about him, though, that made him seem incongruous with his rough surroundings.
    He is a lord, Gwen thought.
    She just might be right. Rod realized. Maybe a younger son of a younger son?
    "General Shacklar," the lieutenant informed them, "the Governor."
    Well. That explained the inverted title.
    The General rose with a smile of welcome, and came around his desk toward them. The lieutenant snapped to attention and saluted. The General returned his salute and stopped in front of the native, crossing his arms and bowing.
    "May your day be sun-filled, Scouting-Master."
    "And yours," the native grinned. "Coffee?"
    "Of course! Lieutenant, will you serve, please?" But, as the young officer turned away, the General stopped him with an upheld palm. "A moment—introductions?"
    "Certainly, sir." The lieutenant turned back to them.
    "Master Rod Gallowglass and his lady, Gwendylon."
    "Charmed." The General took Gwen's hand and bowed. She smiled, pleased.
    The lieutenant stepped away toward the